


Comfort Food

by cunning_capra



Series: Persona Gravy Gang 2020 [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bad Cooking, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Goro learns to play nice, Honestly this one is kind of serious, PersonaGravyGang2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunning_capra/pseuds/cunning_capra
Summary: “Does something smell like it’s burning?” Futaba asks, turning accusatively in Ryuji’s direction.“For the love of god, please do not set off my fire alarm.” Goro says lightly, making eye contact with the blond. Ryuji laughs nervously.Persona Gravy Week Day 2: Homemade Gravy With Friends
Series: Persona Gravy Gang 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879036
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: Day 2 - Homemade Gravy





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> Come join in the fun at @gang_gravy on twitter, gravygangofficial on tumblr, and gang.gravy on instagram!  
> I'm so impressed with the content y'all are making, you are all so talented! <3
> 
> Today's prompt I took a lot more seriously, so please enjoy the lack of crack while you can.

“Hello?” Goro asks, as he is firmly pushed out of his own entryway. 

“No time to explain.” Ryuji thrusts a plastic bag into his hands. It’s heavy, and for some reason, full of potatoes. Futaba salutes him as she ambles in behind Ryuji, another bag dangling from her fingers. 

The door swings shut behind them.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Goro asks dryly, following as they make themselves at home in his kitchen, throwing bags down and rifling through cabinets and drawers. The kitchen is essentially as pristine as it had been the day he’d first entered the apartment - not a knick on the countertop, not a stain on his stove. And he intends to keep that way.

None of this bodes well for this particular dream of his.

Irritation heats his cheeks, and he crosses his arms, watching them fumble and putter around his kitchen uninvited. All he wanted was to take a nap. Enjoy some peace and quiet. And yet-

“Where’s your wine?” Ryuji practically shouts as he turns on the burner. Next to him, Futaba is looking dubiously between the knife in her right hand and an unpeeled potato in her left. 

“My...what?” Goro asks, feeling a headache coming on.

“You know. Your wine.” Ryuji says, exchanging glances with Futaba. 

“I don’t have wine.” Goro says, “We’re underage.”

“You don’t have wine?”

“You heard the man Ryuji, he doesn’t have wine.” Futaba says, taking a slice at the potato. A chunk of it falls to the floor. She stares down at it, glasses slipping down her nose.

“What do you mean you don’t have wine? You’re the oldest and the most. Yknow. Where’s your beer then - what’ve you got - Asahi?”

“I don’t have beer.”

“Brandy?”

“No,” Goro says, maybe a little forcefully, throwing his hands up, “I don’t. Drink.”

“Told you we should’ve gone to Haru.” Futaba mutters.

“You sayin’ you don’t have any booze?” Ryuji asks, looking distraught. He gestures at his phone, screen up on the counter, “The recipe calls for booze.”

Goro grits his teeth. Remembers his breathing exercises. Turns away and walks out of the room. 

“We can make it without alcohol.” He can hear Futaba say, voice muffled as he closes the bathroom door behind him and counts to 50, “We don’t really need it.”

“Yeah but it would’ve made it fancier right?” Ryuji says. There’s a clatter and a swear. “Akechi loves fancy shit.”

Goro splashes his face with water. Reaches 100. Looks up at himself in the dingy little mirror.

He looks… scared. But Goro Akechi is not scared, not of two imbeciles stomping around his kitchen. No. Goro is. Overwhelmed. He’s not used to people barging into his personal space and taking command - in fact conceptually it makes his skin crawl. In practice...in practice he feels deeply uncomfortable. He sweeps his bangs out of his eyes and massages his temple thinking. 

Did he remember to pick up the laundry he’d dumped in the living room yesterday? Has he vacuumed recently? 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Futaba says, voice carrying through the thin walls. She sounds apprehensive.

“Sure, why not? Who doesn’t love some good old comfort food?”

“Akechi probably.”

It’s fine. It’s probably fine. 

Goro knows how to socialize. He knows how to talk to people. 

Goro knows how to have friends.

_(He doesn’t.)_

Goro opens the door. Takes a deep breath. Rounds the corner to the kitchen and stands his ground.

“What are you doing?” He asks, keeping his voice even. He congratulates himself for not yelling. He’ll have to tell his therapist about it next week.

Futaba rolls her eyes, gesturing with her knife. Ryuji jumps out of its path, thief instincts saving his hide from total annihilation by just an inch. He seems to be stirring something in the saucepan - the kitchen smells like onions and something vaguely meaty and smoky. 

“Making you dinner.” Futaba says, “Duh.”

“It’s no secret you can’t cook dude.” Ryuji says, and then immediately grimaces, “Not that uh. That’s a bad thing.” 

“I can’t cook either.” Futaba says, mutilating another potato on his counter. 

“You don’t say.” Goro responds, ducking around the counter to open a drawer. He rifles through it, then opens another. He hands her a potato peeler, “Try this.”

“Job specific equipment really is the best,” She croons, immediately ditching the knife. Goro quickly moves it to the sink, out of the way of flailing limbs, “Thanks for the assist!”

“Sure,” He says awkwardly, hovering between the two of them and watching them work. A thick liquid is congealing in the pot on the stove -the surface bubbling and blistered. Ryuji’s brows are furrowed, and he scrolls up and down the recipe on his phone, looking stumped.

“Does something smell like it’s burning?” Futaba asks, turning accusatively in Ryuji’s direction.

“For the love of god, please do not set off my fire alarm.” Goro says lightly, making eye contact with the blond. Ryuji laughs nervously. Fumbles with the dial to turn off the stove.

“Is it done?” Futaba demands, abandoning her pile of half peeled potatoes, wriggling and squeezing between the two boys. She sniffs the pot, nose wrinkling, “It uh. It looks great.”

In the past, Goro might have refused to eat this travesty. Might have been snide and pointed out the bits he’s pretty sure might be solid and overcooked. Would have sneered and probably kicked them out long ago.

Instead he silently distributes spoons, dipping his own into the gravy and tentatively putting the spoon in his mouth.

“Oh.” Ryuji says, sounding downtrodden. 

“Hm.” Says Goro.

“Yeah.” 

Futaba spits hers out in the sink.

Goro feels like he might vomit. His stomach rolls violently and he slumps backwards against the counter and clears his throat.

“Sorry,” Ryuji sighs, “For ruining dinner. And uh. Your kitchen.”

Spots of gravy and what looks like cream have dried on the stainless steel of the stove. Potato skins litter the floor. Pieces of onion are scattered everywhere.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Futaba says, even as she’s leaning over the sink to spit again. If Goro had less reservations and was feeling a hair more spiteful, he would be washing his mouth with soap.

But Goro is with friends. He’s _friendly_.

“Really convincing.” Ryuji notes, shaking his head, “Nah, it’s okay. The recipe was in English so I was bound to fudge it up somehow.”

They stand in silence, looking dismally at the cakey substance that was almost gravy.

Ryuji’s expression is pinched pathetically, and he seems to be chewing on his bottom lip. Futaba is tapping on the metal of the sink, not making eye contact. Goro supposes they will pack up their stuff, and call it day soon. Good riddance honestly. He’ll be back to his clean, empty apartment. 

That’s what he wants isn’t it?

Futaba sniffs.

“Let’s get takeout.” Goro says, tossing his spoon on the counter. 

“Wait. Really? What about the mess?” Ryuji asks. He glances at the counter and then back at Goro. His stomach growls.

“We’ll deal with it later,” Goro shrugs, already heading towards the entryway to grab his coat. 

“Hell yeah!” Futaba crows, bounding after him. A smile spreads over Ryuji’s face and he catches up with them at the door, throwing his arms around their shoulders and laughing.

“Alright!” He cheers in their ears, squeezing them too tight. Futaba squeals and laughs. Goro’s jacket isn’t even on all the way yet. They are loud and abrasive and nosy and - “Mission gravy part two is a go!” 

And Goro can’t bring himself to mind. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr and twitter @ cunningcapra


End file.
